Dust to Dust
by BWjournal
Summary: Written in collaboration with KyinHI. Post - Valkyrie. Spoilers ahead. The walls are closing in; will they light a match and burn them down? Opposite POV available at KyinHI's Profile under "Ashes to Ashes" - Artwork by HoneyandVodka


**A/N:**

**This idea came to us in a heartbreaking rush, in a scramble of an opportunity, as this painful hiatus came to its end. Written in collaboration with KyinHI, "Dust to Dust" is a companion to "Ashes to Ashes", same story from opposite POVs.**

**I don't own them, they own themselves. **

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_**For Becky & Ky. Because we flail, therefore we exist.**_

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The elevator ride is silent and awkward; Kate's hair rests on her shoulders, dark brown curls that he's seen shimmer against the golden light that covered their brief strolls around the mall a few weeks ago.

She'd wanted it shorter than before and comfortable, he convinced her that he'd miss twining his fingers through her long waves; '_it will grow back,' _she said '_something to look forward to.'_ Now, he may never see those caramel tendrils curl against his fingers again.

Her stride out of the elevator is determined, powerful, filled with purpose. It reminds him of the many times that he'd followed her into a crime scene, out to hunt a suspect, even to talk to the family of the deceased. In a few hours, he'll be all of that… a victim, a suspect… the deceased. And she - Kate will be the one to fall, shortness to her breath, in a strangled sob, as she joins his mother and daughter to grieve his stupidity. He's let them down too.

He'd pay good money, give away all of his bank account, to not be trapped in this silent car ride. But then, _what is there to say?_ What can you possibly talk about when you have just been told that you only have a few hours to live… and told by your fiancé of all people.

Everything sounds irrelevant in his head. He should call his daughter, he should talk to his mother… but he still can't make sense of this. Maybe its better he doesn't, but there's no actual "better" in this situation.

And it feels so weird, unsettling and perhaps surreal that he's serving a death sentence, that he has very little time left to live; a part of him feels like he couldn't be any more alive, even if he tried. His heart pounds so hard inside his chest that he feels its beat throbbing in his ears, every sound distorted and hollow as they pass by corner after corner. Fast, they're going almost too fast; there are not a lot of cars at this early hour in Georgetown.

The capital is silent and purplish grey before dawn. The capital is sleeping while his life crumbles to pieces.

Castle is sure that she asked him something but he can't make out her words, focussing on her fingers as they wrap around the wheel of her government issued sedan. She has to be pissed, her knuckles are white. She has to be pissed... because this is all his fault.

He went rogue, betrayed her, disregarding what is important to her. It's all his fault.

She was kicked off the team and sent packing to care for his stupid dying fiance. It's all his fault.

She's fuming and probably berating herself for all the things she screamed at McCord on their way out… it's all his fault.

Their life is done. It's all his fault.

The car comes to a stop at a traffic light near her house. A few days ago he noticed the lively neighborhood as his town car also made a stop here; a couple of young mothers with strollers, and a few kids playing with their water pistols on their lawns. He'd smiled then, because that scenario didn't seem too foreign to them anymore.

The neighborhood feels different at night though, there's a different mood, or perhaps it's them. He looks at her, slender fingers swiping away tears, and he knows that she's struggling to hide her anger; it dawns on him the sheer magnitude of the destructive force of his mistake. The terrible aftermath of his carelessness, of a broken promise; he didn't just let her down, he has destroyed their future.

Not only will they not be partners, he put himself in an unavoidable countdown that robbed them of the possibility of being the most important team that he'd ever wanted to be a part of…

They won't get to be _them_. And it's all his fault.

The car stops softly in her driveway; he unbuckles his seat belt and exits the car. Castle wants to lay down, he needs to try and stop his mind from spinning this fast. They've got nothing, no hope yet about a possible cure to this.

This is too much, too much on them.

This is too much on Kate, who's standing still, eyes lost in thought, her hands hanging limp at her sides as she absentmindedly strokes her ring finger with her thumb. There's nothing adorning it, no flair or sparkle, and he wonders what that involuntary movement means.

She has been wearing her ring around her neck ever since she took on the federal job; right next to her mother's ring, _right next to her heart_, she'd said. But he wonders, now that every single plan seems futile, if she'll ever get to wear his ring on her finger again.

Maybe at his funeral. It will probably sparkle in the autumn sun.

He closes her car door for her, and it seems to snap her out of her reverie. She's tired, he can tell, and he wishes that she would let him soothe some of that tiredness away. He knows better than to do this right now.

Kate fumbles with the lock, frustrated because she has never gotten the hang of it, even though it always opens for him on the first try. Her shoulders slump and he hears her sigh in annoyance. He wants to reach out to her, be some kind of comfort but before he can even react she steps inside, into a place that he wishes were a different one.

Castle wishes that they were back at his loft, or at her old apartment. He wishes that he could turn back time to when their biggest concern was to not get caught. There have been other moments where their life has been on the line, but nothing as definitive as this.

How can you fight a silent enemy, one that will take you down when you least expect it? How can you fight something that is killing you from the inside?

There's no gun to silence that threat.

She drops her keys on the table, shedding her jacket and aiming for the chair, but it slides off it, landing with a soft sound on her carpet. She doesn't care, she moves on to her small and way too generic kitchen. Kate had hated it when she first moved in, nothing like the details of her beautiful and quirky space in Manhattan, but then she rationalized that she wouldn't be spending much time at home. It had felt odd when she called it that way.

_Home._

He wants to go to her; instead he picks up the discarded item, neatly hanging it from the back of the seat. He's stalling, she's stalling, and he lacks the words to try to get any sort of ideas out of his head. There's so much to say, and yet so little too.

Kate's standing in the middle of the space, fingers pinching the bridge of her nose, hand gripping her hip, tense. So tense.

"Kate," he says, taking a step toward her, but she shakes her head.

"Now now, Castle," she stops him with the steel of her voice, her back to him, not even acknowledging his need to make things better. He needs to make it better, he only wishes he knew how.

She busies herself rooting through the cupboards and producing a couple of coffee mugs, their new coffee mugs because she insisted that he'd keep her old blue cup at his loft, the one with the cute rim. He'd bought her a similar one, trying to make her feel closer to what her original home is, what their comfort habits were. He appreciates how she's making an effort to not slam them onto the countertop. Her movements are measured, as if this robotic dance is the one thing holding her back from exploding at him.

She's got it down to an art, this coffee making routine. Their own way to say _I love you_ when the words wouldn't come in the early days… Their hello and their goodbye. It's only fitting.

He sheds his own jacket, suddenly aware of his own discomfort, and then he senses it; the smell of fear. He reeks of it, oozing out of every pore and he can't stand it. He needs a shower; he needs to make himself forget that this surreal day is happening to him, if only for a brief time.

Kate still refuses to face him but that doesn't stop him from going to her and chancing a brief kiss to the top of her head, a quick fix of her smell, that mix of sweet and clean, the heat of her skin and the silky strands of her hair caressing his lips.

She freezes under his hands; his grasp growing needier on her hips until she shifts slightly under his touch. He knows that she's battling herself. He knows that she's trying to be strong, and locking herself in a stoic marble cover.

This is all his fault.

So he gives her space; space to make sense of it all… space to breathe before there's no more room, before those grisly demons of hers assault her. He knows those demons, how they steal her breath when she lets her guard down, and the aftermath of a moment in time when they almost stole her life.

He knows those demons will come when he's no longer able to be there to hold her hand, to crush her against him and soothe the spiral of fear away.

He won't be there. He won't.

As he undresses and enters the shower stall, he notices the place anew; how everything has acquired a different quality, a different texture. It's as if this is the first time he has seen the hand mirror, or the sea sponge right next to her loofah. All of her things are around him, telling him stories. Every scent he has sipped from her skin, licked from her sweat, grazed as he ran his hands over her velvety skin.

His girly Kate.

His. But not for much longer.

Castle lets the spray of the hot water pound his shoulders, burning his skin; he welcomes the punishing sting. He just wishes that the sensation allowed him to feel like this was enough lashings for his shortcomings, but nothing will make him feel like he's engaged in enough torture.

He spots the small artisan liquid soap that he knows Kate loves; she rarely lets him pour it himself. '_Its too expensive, you use too much, stop!'_ she'd nag as she'd let a small dollop of silky, warm brown sugar and milk onto her soft green loofah and let him have his way with her.

Washing, caressing, enjoying every single inch of her.

He'd sworn, back in the day, that her soap was the offending element that had enveloped her in a cloud of cherry essence but he'd discovered, in the best way possible, that it was her lotion to blame for such delicious mix. He'd covered her supple curves with it, drawn patterns on the soft planes of her back, confided love notes to her tanned skin.

The bubbles spring to life the moment that he lets himself indulge in the creamy soap. Its aroma envelops him, as if someone had taken her unique formula and wrapped him tight with it. It's almost too much; he leans against the tile, his forehead feeling the stark contrast between the cold surface and his overheated skin. The bubbles that just had been exuberant and magical, now slip, dissolving, circling the drain as they slide from his hands.

Like him and Kate; they're slipping, fading as the water pounds onto him, and the time ticks away.

They're running out of time, and he's here, and she's there… Why are they away from each other?

Castle bolts out of the shower, hastily grabbing a towel and just barely managing to wipe some of the water and soap off of him before he starts for the kitchen where he left her. That's when he hears it, the unmistakable sound of her muted sobs, gasps of air in the dead silence of her home. He rushes toward her, but skids to a stop at the sight.

Kate's sitting on the floor, one leg extended and stained with coffee, the cups beside her, her shoulders slumped and defeated. Long streaks mark her beautiful face where tears stream down her cheeks, stamping black paths of pain. He knew she was trying to hold on; he knew this was coming.

Castle knows better than to rush to her; he kneels carefully, within her line of sight, close but not close enough to make her jump. The last time he'd seen her break down like this, it had been over Bracken. She'd braved it through, she'd been strong, but after the adrenaline had worn off, she'd slowly let her weaknesses take over. The trance-like state had made her almost feral, desperate, trapped and not finding a suitable outlet; nothing more than her repressed frustrations.

He loved that she trusted him enough to let him see her that naked. He hates that he has now become one of her traumas.

Kate takes a deeper breath and he can see that this is different. Maybe there's hope to this. Castle reaches out to graze her calf, touching her as softly as he can allow himself, even though everything within him is telling him to just swoop her up and cradle her in his arms, wipe away her tears. Her eyes meet his, and they're big and bloodshot, sporting a tone of green that he's rarely seen. He hasn't seen this kind of pain in her before.

He scoots closer when he's sure that she won't recoil from his approach, carefully trying not to lose the towel haphazardly tied around his waist. He's wet, but she's crying and he doesn't care. He can't afford to waste more time._ They_ can't afford to waste more time.

So he tries to make it light. This is them, this is what they do.

"Hey," he tries, meeting her eyes and trying for a smile, a tight lipped one. She tries to do the same but her watery eyes tell otherwise. "Are you having a sad, coffee picnic without me?"

_Great, Rick. Make a joke of this situation and her pain. That will help things._

He tries to connect with her, to read her features as if they will clue him into what her beautiful mind hides away, what her soul is carefully tucking away inside. He doesn't want a wall between them today, he never wanted it, and now, as he sits before her, it breaks his heart that this has been brought on by him.

He waits until she offers a watery smile, one that lifts about ten pounds of weight from his shoulders, one that speaks of her and all the second chances they've given themselves. It's a sad smile, but a smile nonetheless.

"What are we gonna do?" Kate says, rushed, as if every breath that comes out of her carries an ounce of her desperation. The knot that settles in his stomach doesn't help and he cannot breathe. It doesn't help that he's run out of jokes, and crazy theories. It really is eye opening that if this were any other situation, if Kate were the one on a death clock, he'd probably be moving mountains to find that one thing that would save her. And he knows that she would do the same, but this, this is not something they can gun down… He's fresh out of white bunnies and top hats.

"I don't know," he finally concedes with a sigh. He's tired and he doesn't want to think this is the beginning of the end. He doesn't want to think about it, but what were the signs that that man had missed? Were there any clues announcing a halt to his demise?

He doesn't know what's more frustrating: that he doesn't have an answer for his own tragedy, or that the people around him stared at him with blank faces when he pleaded them for a way out.

"I can't lose you." Kate reaches for him, her touch soft to his bicep, her words laced with an urgency that shatters him. He needs more of her, her reassuring grasp won't ever be enough. He leans into her, foreheads touching, breathing her scent that has mixed with the steam of the coffee billowing nearby.

"Too late…" he admits, almost too low for even himself to hear it. He doesn't want to say it, but maybe if he repeats it loud enough his mind will reconcile with that fact.

It's too overwhelming for him, for her, for this delicate balance that is their shared mind, as a fresh bout of tears spring from her eyes and they break him. He's shattering her heart and there won't be a minute in the following hours that he won't.

It will just become one torturous road to nothing. He's not ready for this.

Her breath catches, in heartbreaking hiccups that tell him just how undone she's become. He rubs his forehead to hers; he can't be doing this to her, he can't, this has to be a nightmare. He needs to wake up.

"Shhh," he soothes her. "Shh. Come on."

He needs to be strong for her, even if this is the last thing he does. He offers her a hand and lifts her off the floor; her grip is reassuring and warm, like he always imagined their hands would fit once they were allowed. Just holding hands. God, they fit so perfectly together; every odd angle aligns, they are perfect for one another.

Castle walks them to the bedroom. He doesn't have a plan, he doesn't have a goal… other than to share every single last breath left with her. He just wants to hold onto her and never let go, so when they reach the bedroom he does just that, circles her in a hug that he wishes could cover more of her, fuse himself to her.

It breaks him sometimes how innocent it feels for him when he looks into her eyes. He cannot avoid lusting after her, desiring her, imagining and acting on impulse. He thinks about all the ways that they have enjoyed themselves carnally but the most pure moments, when they're stripped of any and all hunger, is when he's happiest. He's happy to just be when he's with her.

"I'm sorry, Kate," he says as he kisses the top of her forehead, his lips grazing the delicate hairline, "I'm sorry I've done this to us."

Her body shakes in his embrace when a fresh bout of sobs wracks through her. He needs her to calm down, he can't let their last moments together be filled with so much hurt, even if he can't forgive himself, even when he's having such a hard time trying to move past it.

He needs to show her how much he loves her; words are not enough, touches will never be enough; there's never enough when it comes to Kate Beckett.

As if in a dance, he shuffles their huddled bodies to the foot of the bed, tenderly, trying not to break the spell.

"Just stay with me, Kate." He requests. He needs her full attention, and his mind plays tricks on him, raising a flag, reminding him of the last time he uttered that sentence.

She had been dying then, it's a quick assault to his psyche, and for a moment, he had been dying as well. He doesn't want her to go through this; he knows how it feels and he can't. This is not more compassionate on either of them, there's no better or worse way to say goodbye to the one you love.

She sobs against his chest; a full uncontrolled sob that floods his soul with dark grief. He's done this to her, and he can't fix it. He's broken her.

Castle coaxes her to sit when her calves hit the mattress. He will worship her, he will pray to her, to the magnificent being she often forgets she is. If he has to leave, he'd like her to remember the way he loved her.

He rids her of her boots, not missing a beat to appreciate the fact that this is one of the quirks that he loves about her; these ridiculous heels. Holding on to her feet, he starts a massage to her plants, kneading his thumbs into the soft flesh of her arches, trying to release the tension that she always carries there. Her eyes shut and her toes wiggle in reflex as he provokes pure sensation.

_Let yourself be loved, Kate,_ he thinks.

Castle continues on as her breathing becomes more even, massaging her calves and legs, caressing her hips through the material of her slacks, and she's still so very dressed compared to his state. He needs to feel her skin, sooner rather than later. His hands find the bottom edge of her shirt as she cards her fingers through his hair; he checks with her, assuring that she's okay with this pace.

_This is for her, _he repeats to himself, but it is also for him, because loving her is the greatest pleasure he's ever endured, is the greatest gift he's ever received. He frees her of her shirt as he rises, and the sight of her looking expectantly at him is just so desirable; he leans in, taking her lips hungrily, his body crowding hers, sticking to her like a magnet as he advances over her while they kiss, ending up on top of her, covering her, guarding her from anything other than him and his protective embrace.

"I'm so sorry," he mumbles against her lips. "I never meant for any of this to happen."

"I know," she assures him, but he can feel the unbearable sting of tears in his own eyes now. He tries to shake them off as she shimmies against him and up toward the headboard, discarding her pants along the way. Kate meets him in a kiss that steals his breath away as her thighs cradle his hips, the closeness of her body now almost complete; his towel is gone and she's only clad in a matching set of blue lace that he can't wait to peel away.

He urges her to roll over, curling her onto her side, he can wrap himself around her then, feel every curve as he spoons her from behind. Her skin is always so soft and inviting, covered in the most delicate peach fuzz that he loves to caress; he marvels at how he got so lucky; to be able to be like this, enjoy her like this. He wondered what lucky star had crossed their lives that the universe decided that she was to be his, even if for a just moment.

Castle knows it's stupid and retrograde, but he can't silence the male pride that floods him when he thinks about it. He possessed Katherine Beckett… every inch of her, every waking breath, every strength and every weakness… she has allowed him in. She's let him own her, and all she's ever asked... was to have him.

He wonders now if she didn't sell herself short.

A tear escapes from her eye and he decides that he won't let her shed another one; no more offending streaks staining her face as if they were drops of pure blood from her soul.

He listens to her breathing as they settle even closer to each other. There had been nights when this quiet hum entrancing him would be the only way he'd manage to fall asleep when his mind couldn't shut down, and he'd imagined a million and one mornings in the future, where he would wake up to her by his side, tangled limbs and smiling faces waking to another day of their lives.

They'd grow old, or older. He'd envisioned that first year after their marriage; adventures in exotic places, getting used to all his quirks, to all her quirks. Yes, he didn't fool himself into thinking that there wouldn't be close calls but those would only make for more stories to tell, and then eventually… they'd have little mixes of themselves that would be perfect in their own way, filling their lives, transforming everything. Because he couldn't wait for their lives to start, he couldn't measure the value that life with Kate Beckett meant to him. It is… it was... his all and everything.

"I always thought we'd go out warm and cozy in our beds; old and gray," he admits finally. "I never truly believed that this life would catch up to us."

Castle hears a labored breath brew inside her, her shoulders rising trying to fill her lungs with life. He lowers his hand to graze her hip, soothing her, in a pace that's almost hypnotic to him.

"I wish I could have kept you safe," she says; it almost sounds like a plea. He won't have that. He returns his hand to her jaw in a soft caress, drawing her attention.

"No, Kate. No. It's not your job. It's not your job to carry the world on your shoulders, love." He can't let her blame herself for this, not ever. It is his, and only his responsibility. "It is as much my job to keep _you_ safe and...I've failed you."

"Oh, Castle." She rushes to say, a little perplexed, her eyes searching his, big and sincere. "You could never…"

She smiles at him, and its jarring because for the first time in a while this feels like a true smile.

"You've annoyed me," she starts, nudging his knee with hers, "maybe driven me to drink on occasion," and he can't help but snort as she continues, her head knocking his for emphasis, "but you've _never _failed me."

He kisses her, because this wonderful woman knows him well enough to know that humor will ease his pain. He breathes her in, nuzzling into her neck, enjoying her scent, that unique drug that he could never get enough of. His fingers trace the delicate material of the chain that holds the rings, a silvery contrast on her skin and he likes that she's left them on; an ornate reminder of their complete history.

Kate faces him now, deliciously biting his lower lip with mischief. The bra is mocking him; it needs to go. He needs to feel her skin free against his. Her hands roam his face, soothing, loving; he can feel her admiring him as she grazes his ear, his brows, and he loves that, so gentle and caring. He wonders if in the afterlife he'd be able to miss this. What will become of him? He's never taken a moment to think about what comes after the moment he no longer sees this dimension.

The neighborhood is still quiet, as if it has understood that they need the world to halt for a moment, to stop so that they can unleash everything that they've held back. _Let us have what we won't be able to savour again_, he prays to himself. Any offending noises are forgotten or forgiven as his priorities lie elsewhere. He mirrors her exploration, delicately cherishing her features, memorizing them as they transform before him, suddenly blooming as she opens up to him, as she lets the things unsaid ooze out of her pores.

Kate's eyes meet his, and the pale light that has started to filter into their cocoon paints her features softly, illuminating her sorrowful eyes and enhancing every fleck of gold and green, reminding him of the eternal forest that is her; mysterious and enchanting, intricate and forever surprising. He played at portraying her with words but he never could get the entirety of her on paper… and that was alright, because it meant that no one got to experience her like he does. Only him, she's only for him.

And he's totally fine with her being his last, even if that boils his blood with anger and guilt. A car horn blares outside, breaking the moment, and their lips meet in a frantic kiss that leaves him gasping for air; it speaks of desperation, of hunger, of their inability to ever have enough of each other.

She grows impatient, claiming the flesh of his neck, biting and sucking at his skin and it hurts but he welcomes it, he needs it, the pain bringing even more sensation and awareness to the finality of it all. He can't waste a minute, not a second should pass by without meaning.

"I will love you always," he mumbles and whispers as he clings to her, "I'm sorry I won't be able to live longer, to show you how much…" And no matter how many times he apologizes, even when he knows that she may already have forgiven him for all his faults, he needs to say it over and over again, to convince him that he's forgiven himself, even though he knows that it won't happen.

Castle's hands roam roughly on her skin, rubbing and kneading, starved of her heat as his lips ravish her breasts and he wills himself to worship the reminder of that fateful moment that faintly lingers on her skin. Kate manages to discard the last of her underwear as he fixates on a scar that separated them for a while, only to unite them again, a test over time that they won, a sign of their struggle that leaves his own heart racing as he meets her eyes. They don't need words for the enormous meaning of that wall that crumbled so long ago, a wall that will never come back.

"No," he whispers against her skin as he rolls her over in one swift move. He needs to be inside of her before he loses control and the strangling emotion threatens to render him unable to go on.

Her center beckons him; he fits perfectly as he enters her greedily, and she's so tight around him, arching at his invasion, her body adjusting to his length, managing his assault. It floods his senses; she welcomes him home.

He meets her eyes, those beautiful eyes that stare at him full of meaning, giving him final permission to be part of her, to hungrily feed from her life source, frantic, violent, rushed, but never enough. It's almost too much sensation but he needs to feel alive, he needs to know that there's blood still coursing through his veins, that he's still with her. He feels selfish for a moment but she meets his thrusts, equally eager, matching his drive. He doesn't know when he closed his eyes, probably a reflex from his body to protect him from so much stimulation, but when he looks at her again, he realizes he owes her something better than this, he owes her a memory of what they are, of what he always hoped they could become.

He slows down; his muse deserves to be thoroughly loved. She gave him so much, regardless of all the hurdles, she needs to be cherished. The anguish and the tears that fall freely from her eyes tell it all, she needs more of him than this.

Kate grows restless under him, but he tries to communicate silently his intentions, let his hands do the talking as he tangles his fingers through her mane, reverently descending down her temple as it calms her down, her eyelids drifting closed ever so briefly. She grabs his wrist and surprises him, kissing his fingertips so tenderly that his chest feels tight at such simple gesture. She releases him, allowing him to continue his ministrations, tracing her taut skin at her collarbone, perfectly shaped and sexy, one of the features of her that drove him insane.

Goosebumps rise as he caresses down her arms; he knows she loves these touches, foreplay that stalls the monsoon of endorphins flooding her system, delaying her gratification. He's seen her come undone under him and it is the most glorious feeling when he knows that he can read her needs like this, even when her own instincts push with impatience.

Their hands clasp together, his weight resting on top of her, every ounce of him restrained to continue on this pace when her voice trembles in a confession, hoarse and intimate.

"I love you," and she looks away as if she can't hold his perusal. "You know that, right?"

This woman drove him to madness, to danger, to hell and back. She unknowingly pushed him to become a different man that he had learned to love… this woman doesn't get to look away. Not today. She's braver than this, she cannot fear him not knowing this by now.

"Kate, love, look at me," he says, demanding but trying to lace his words with the sheer amount of admiration he feels for her.

His eyes search for hers, digging into those depths, breathing in sync, heated skin that he feels like his own. Her hand clasps his, her delicate fingers holding on tighter than before, searching for his reassurance.

"I've always known," he says, in words that come as softly as the kisses that follow, nipping, savouring her mouth, drinking her slowly, their tongues lazily dancing a slow waltz. "I love you too," eagerly, positively sure.

Her understanding comes in a solemn nod, permission to resume his exploration, his loving and dedicated prayer.

Castle grabs onto her hips, sliding his open wide hands and bracketing her back, his fingers applying pressure on the soft flesh of her waist, pulling her close; he needs her.

As his hands wander and graze the curve of her ass, slowly tickling the back of her thigh with his nails, he licks her neck, tasting the mix of sweat and tears that has accumulated there. She hums an electric sizzle as he hoists her knee up by his hip; his nudges her heat with his tip and she wants more, writhing her hips toward his pelvis, her moisture sliding over him. He shuts his eyelids, forceful as her groans spur something primal in him, her need is raw and unbidden as she wraps herself closer, whispering, mewling, urging him on.

When he slips into her again, its as if every sensitized nerve ending overloads at once, flashes of light warning him of his own limits but she clings to him, nudging and demanding and he cannot stop from pleasing her. Her muscles pull him in like he's never felt before, emotions powering a vise that grabs onto his length as if she truly intends to fuse them together; he could swear this is what heaven feels like, this moment when he really doesn't know if it would be possible to separate their skins again.

Their noises fill the room, skin against skin, moist gliding of their most sensitive spots, the most erotic sound he's ever registered mixes with her moans and grunts that escape him as he pumps into her slowly enough to drive himself mad.

He's thorough, feeling every inch of her, a scorching slippery grasp, designed to make him lightheaded, sparse quivers sparking around him signaling that she's close too.

But then she kisses him and the mesmerizing cadence of her thirst slows him down, _make it last_, seems to be the message, _lets take our time. _If only there was more of it, one more day to look into her eyes, one more day to go through their bucket list, to say the things he can't even pronounce right now, the things he's forgotten, set aside, marked for better times.

He can't believe that this is it, it fills him with paralyzing fear, because he realizes that he no longer knows what's like to be without her. He can't put that on her, he can't. He's the one that messed this up and he can't let her see that, he doesn't want it in this space. Kate will have plenty of moments to remember that he abandoned her by the other empty places of her life once he's gone, but he won't let her feel abandoned right now.

He _won't_ rob her of this intimacy between them. Not now that she's let him in, not when he knows how much this means to her. He can't continue looking into her eyes though, it's too overwhelming. Those eyes disarm him, they always have, from the moment she cornered him in a dingy gray room.

It might have seemed like a cross interrogation to her, but for him it was the first date with the love of his life. He needs to hide from those eyes that undress him, just for the remainder; it's for her own good.

He swiftly changes their position, not letting her go, but finding a way to reconcile the need to hide his cowardice as he hugs her from behind, his nose buried in her curls, nuzzling the sweat on the nape of her neck. He welcomes the fact that she can read that he needs a moment; for whatever reason, she can find a way to tame her own urges, to keep herself from losing that edge as he feels her body vibrate against his.

Castle tastes her skin greedily, his hands sneaking to her front, pulling her to him, grabbing onto her soft mounds, pinching her nipples and producing a guttural moan that tumbles past her lips. She's coiled tight, he knows, suppressing her orgasm, stubborn, because she doesn't want to let go.

His fingers travel down her abdomen, stopping short from her center, measuring his touch, curbing it until she urges him on, allowing him access. And she's even readier to continue than he had accounted for, coating his fingers with her arousal as he circles her bundle of nerves. She buckles against him, gasping at his stimulation, sensitive and trembling, her hips pushing against his, her need for him clear, a growl vibrating through her. And that's his undoing.

He enters her roughly, all of his energy spent in ungraceful and sloppy thrusts that he can't control, desperate, because this woman is the life he's never going to have. Tears well up and fall and he has to silence his sobs against her skin as he drives into her, harder and uncontrolled. He's not going to last. Her nails claw at his forearms, holding onto him fiercely, closer, deeper.

Kate's words mix with her moans and keening sounds, she pushes against him with her ass, breathing labored, short, shallow, and he tries to recoil with all his might when he hears a few last words come out of her.

"Castle… Castle… Don't… Don't…"

A brief flash of confusion crosses him but his body has taken over, he's gone. He can't stop now. His orgasm hits him full force as he buries himself deep within her, her name expelling out of him through gritted teeth and she clamps down on him with an intense force, every shock running through them as he buries his face in her neck.

She's panting, the rise and fall of her shoulders and rib cage is fast and scattered as if she'd been subject to an intense run. The sheen of sweat on her skin glistens, covering with a slick texture that enhances everything that he loves about her body, and he's been an animal about his greed for her. He should had made it better, he has to make it better.

"I'm sorry, Kate.. I wasn't thinking… I didn't mean to make this…" he mumbles against the tender skin of her shoulder. She shuffles under his lips, a sigh and the graze of her warm hand finding purchase on his waist.

"Castle what… you weren't?" Kate sounds confused and spent as she fumbles blindly between them to hold on to his hand.

"What are you apologizing for? That was…" She sighs as she burrows even more in his embrace. "Amazing."

He doesn't know if she's humoring him, being kind in this moment of vulnerability. He shrugs, dismissing the compliment at his efforts, because it just doesn't seem like he can ever be sure that he's enough for her. Maybe this time she'll actually get a chance to get the person she deserves, not someone stupid that couldn't value the importance of consequences.

But Kate rolls over toward him, immediately peppering every inch of his face with rough and soft kisses that light his skin on fire, that choke him with meaning, that overwhelm him with the murmured love she professes.

Her lips bow on a smile as she meets his eyes, her hands firm on him, emphatic. "You stupid, stupid man." Kate kisses him with lips, her look ravished and full, a smile that spreads to her eyes in wonderful awe. "I was _trying _to say, 'Don't stop.' You could _never_ hurt me, Rick."

She kisses him, sloppy, it feels endless, filling him with the essence of her, and god he can never, ever have enough of her. Of her kindness, of her heart, of the warmth that fills every corner of him… of this generous forgiving soul that has welcomed him in.

He smiles at her, the sentiment of it all settling deep into his bones; he'll allow himself this, he'll allow her to make him feel that there are no burdens or regrets. He'll allow her to make him forget as long as he can hide inside her until the storm has passed and he can see past the clouds. He hugs her tighter, wishing he could engulf her, cover himself with her. He doesn't want to ever lose the scent of them, the musk of sex and her sweet aroma plastered all over his memories. He breathes her in, stealing all the air that he can manage.

His Kate.

His Beckett.

His brave woman that won't stay put and is already growing restless between his embrace, slapping at his chest, and escaping his hands.

"Come on, get up," and she has to be kidding, he thinks as he smiles at her confused. Her voice is filled with energy and mirth that he didn't expect.

"Where are we gonna…" He starts but he doesn't want to even think about it, because he could come up with a list the size of the constitution of things he'd like to do but he doesn't have time. It might be used as an excuse by others, but he literally _doesn't have time_. "Kate, I don't wanna leave. I just want to enjoy whatever time that I…"

He swallows thickly and he's scrambling to find words that won't leave him crumbling into a sobbing mess. Kate cuts him off, resolute, stubborn as always.

"What about your daughter, Castle? Your mother?" she asks and he struggles to understand her.

_Yes, what about them? What about the other victims of this tragedy? _

"You don't think I've thought about them?" He's ashamed, so ashamed of this, of the grief he's subjecting them to, angry at the unfairness of it all.

But then she continues just above a whisper.

"What about me?" Kate's fingers slide on the stubble that has grown overnight, lifting his chin and forcing him to meet her gaze. "Are you content to sit here and just do _nothing_? How many times have we escaped death? How many?"

_How many?_

Too many of them, for him not to have learned to be more careful.

Too many to be careless.

Too many to be this trapped into inevitability.

He can't look at her; he feels the bile rise up, the whole of him protesting the fact that he's given up. Every fiber of him is hyper-aware of the moment that's just transpired between them and refuses to let go.

She grabs his hand, twining their fingers, green searching for his blues.

"Enough for me to know that the only reason we are still alive at all is because of your goddamned uncanny ability to read a situation correctly and find the unlikely solution."

Her breath hitches, catches in her throat as she swallows her own emotions as well.

"I need that now, Rick. I need you to help me." She's so naked before him, and it hurts him to be the one finding it so hard to believe.

So even if its futile, even if he'll spend the last waking minutes of his life running behind her and ruminating through impossibilities, he will do it with her, he will do it for her.

He will go down fighting, especially if it means that the last thing he sees is the bottomless hazel of her eyes, her fighting spirit that first drew him in.

He smiles at her, because he might not be sure, he might not have the answers, but he'll fake braveness so long as she remains his heroine.

"So tell me, Castle," she's crawling on top of him, limber and sensual, making his mind spin and his breath catch as she whispers into his ear. "What's next?"

She pulls back to check on the effect she knows she has on him, a mischievous smirk plastered across her lips, and he finds himself growing thirsty, his tongue darting out, tempted to ravish her once more. Her breasts push flat against his chest, she's kissing his jaw, her tongue is tracing wet hot paths on his skin and her feels a roar grow deep in him as she leans in to his other ear, sucking the lobe into her mouth and biting down.

"Besides," she whispers, letting go of his lobe, "That was _much_ too quick to be our grand finale."

If he doesn't die today, he'd be happy to let her be his demise. He angles her mouth to his, stopping less than an inch from her lips, breathing her same air, meeting her eyes once more, and there's a question that lies there… _will you fight the last fight with me?_

She dives in, meeting him.

He follows her, clinging to the force he's found in her.

She won't let go.

Neither will he.

* * *

**I found myself sobbing at times while writing this, because this premiere couldn't have been more perfect, regardless of how many options and permutations the story could have. The story is the story, and I can firmly say In Marlowe I trust.**

**This was also the most fantastic experience collaborating with KyinHI, as we discovered the amazingness of Google Docs and helicoptered over each other, in our very own writers room. We've never been this productive, in this short time!**

**Remember to read her version of this story on her profile and give her all the LUV. ****Give us all the REVIEWS! All the love! **

**And hang in there, Fillion has a contract to last all season. He won't die, even if he decides to join NPH in Broadway.**


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